Sangfroid
by TheUltimateBibliophile
Summary: The girl sank to her knees, all fight drained out of her. Looking at the dark head bent over another, the woman was washed by a wave of pity- not for herself, but for all the innocents that died along with their reason to live. ONESHOT.


**IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY!**

 **This is a hardcore AU story. I have thrown my hat in as well and have made an OC that is Harry's twin. This is all from her perspective, and while I haven't stated any name for her, I refer to her in my head as Rory, short for Aurora.**

 **This is a Pensieve memory of the Battle of Hogwarts. HARRY DIES! If you can't read that, then shuffle along. I'll give a fuller explanation of Voldemort's death at the end. If you'd like to read that first, skip to the bottom.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

The woman stood at the foot of the broken staircase, numb to the destruction around her. Debris littered the once-grand marble floors, and more fell under the onslaught of spells even as she watched. A shuddering gasp went through her suddenly and she stepped toward the large doors, wishing desperately to inflict more pain upon herself.

 _The searing burn through her veins, the hot brine of tears the back of her throat…_

Dimly, she was aware of voices, screaming, yelling, sobbing. But it was all an indistinct buzz. Drowning the sound out was a primal roar in her ears, the sound of impending doom.

 _Sangfroid_. The word had been her strength as a child. Huddled beneath ratty blankets, cradling a sobbing brother in her arms as the storms raged outside, she had drawn on the word. She had drawn on it when jagged lightning bolts, reminiscent of her brother's scar, pierced the sky and she had to sing lullabies to put him to sleep. She doubted he had even known she feared thunder.

 _Sangfroid indeed._

The experience of several jaunts through this memory dictated the time for her to turn. She did so, the sensation akin to wading through molasses. She saw herself, a younger girl with an unlined face, race down the hallway, dodging green lights the colour of her twin's eyes.

She had often wondered if his green eyes were truly their mother's, or another manifestation of his cursed infancy.

Her younger self crossed the doors to the Great Hall, doing what she as a woman had been hesitant to. Stone crumbled to dust under her boots as her resistance crumbled correspondingly and she made to follow her. The girl's black hair streamed behind her, reminding her of the time she had opened an ink bottle too close to the window, and the dark ink had been blown away by the gusts of wind. The curling black tendrils moved hypnotically, making the woman follow as if in a trance.

Jets of light soared through the air, missing those fortunate, hitting those less so. She kept her eyes affixed on the girl as she weaved and ducked, shooting spells expertly from her wand to reach the eye of the tornado.

The woman watched, expressionless, as the girl and her boy took their last stand against the terror of the Wizarding world. She watched as the boy fell first, slain by another burst of green light. She watched as the girl's face twisted into a mask of grief and as she strode up to the opponent to rip his magic out. She watched as the girl stumbled back to her boy, her brother, to the sound of the universe's fabric tearing.

The girl sank to her knees, all fight drained out of her. Looking at the dark head bent over another, the woman was washed by a wave of pity- not for herself, but for all the innocents that died with their reason to live.

The girl kept stroking the boy's face, her lips moving soundlessly as if in prayer. The first time she viewed this memory, the woman had thought it might be the boy's name. It took her some time to remember that it wasn't a name, but a litany of a single word.

 _Sangfroid._

 **How I pictured the whole scene was that Harry doesn't move fast enough to block Voldemort's Avada, which means that the latter wasn't disarmed. Hence, the Elder Wand never goes over to Harry, and he dies. The second part is that my OC, or Rory, drains Voldemort's magical core. I always intended for her have a Dark affinity, and this is a solution I believe Dumbledore could have given to Harry in the 'in-between' as a fail-safe. Obviously, it couldn't have been well-known, or Voldemort would have used it on Muggle-borns, so I theorized it as something Grindelwald came up with and told Dumbledore.**

 **Whew! Actually, I intended to write this as a full-length fic, but I don't have the time, hence a oneshot. I might expand it sometime later, if possible. If someone wishes to adopt it instead, feel free to PM me!**

 **Please review!**


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